New Blood
by persephone87
Summary: Follows on from The Dark Knight. The Joker is in Arkham Asylum. Doctor Harleen Quinzel is an intern at Arkham. This story is the beginning of their partnership. My first fanfic, updated regularly!
1. The Introduction

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story so far._

_This is my first effort for fanfiction, so i'd really appreciate any feedback._

_Read and Enjoy!_

**Chapter 1 - The Introduction.**

A dark, cold and crisp night in October.

On the outskirts of Gotham City, a high security psychiatric hospital; Arkham Asylum.

A window on the fourth floor, shielded by wrought iron bars and reinforced glass.

A man looks out into the night, a hand wrapped around one of the bars, his head leaning against the window frame.

His appearance is unnerving, even for an inmate of Arkham, renowned for the imprisonment of the cities most dangerous and deranged criminals. His hair, wavy and unkempt, looked as though it was once a mousy colour. Now, immersed unevenly by acid green dye. His face, chalk white. His eyes, if closed, would look like deep black holes, but open, the sclera's are whiter than the full moon in the sky.

And his mouth… painted blood red. His lips are extended with the paint, right up to his cheeks, bestowing a sadistic and psychotic smile.

But the most shocking thing about his face is what the red make up covers and, at the same time, accentuates: The scars.

From the corners of his mouth outwards, is an augmented smile. His lips carved and mutilated, then stitched back together roughly leaving the end result somewhat jagged.

As unique and striking as this man looked, his identity was a mystery. He was known only as The Joker.

When he was escorted to Arkham by a team of Gotham's police officers and committed, they had nothing else.

No name, no other alias.

His clothing was custom, with nothing in his pockets but knives and lint.

It was almost as if he had just dropped out of the sky and inflicted chaos onto the streets of Gotham city; like an asteroid.

That was almost three months ago, and has anonymity was as present today as it had been on the night of his capture on 30th July. He was Gotham's most inexplicable and frightening mystery; a question mark, a problem. But at least with him contained at the Asylum, the hostile shadow he had instigated on the streets of the city, like a spectre on a crime spree, had been revoked.

And now here he was, in his ward. Confined in a cell, looking out onto the metropolis he'd had so many more plans to punish. He'd vividly imagined the pandemonium, enticing The Batman further into a vituperative duel.

And now, his plans had to be put on hold. Temporarily.

But a victim he certainly was not. Nor was he a schemer. He believed himself to be an agent of chaos. And he had an abundance of tricks up his sleeve.

For now, he had a new focus. And here she comes now…

In the hallway outside his cell, The Joker could hear the unmistakeable footsteps of Doctor Harleen Quinzel. The heels of her shoes tap-tapped on the polished floor, getting closer and closer.

Her steps sounded swift and jittery; he had noticed that the first time he had heard them, six weeks after his incarceration. Doctor Quinzel had arrived at Arkham as an intern, shy and nervous but eager to prove herself all the same. Which is why she had volunteered to analyse The Joker on her first day. She had pretty much been laughed out of her bosses office, but persisted until she was finally granted permission for a trial session 5 weeks later.

The Joker had been handcuffed and led into a private room, where Harleen had been waiting for him. The two guards who had escorted him in stood against the wall on either side of him; 'just in case'.

Harleen and The Joker sat in chairs opposite one another, a table was the only thing that had separated the two of them. Harleen had only ever seen him through the window in the door to his cell before.

The Joker recalled that day further as he watched Doctor Quinzel scuttle past his ward…

His face wasn't covered by his usual mask, the notorious paint with which he was associated. Upon arriving at Arkham, he had been restrained and washed down with a hose. All that was left of his 'clown' costume was the dye in his hair and the hysterical laughter; symbols that he was no circus act. This guy was for real.

"Any chance of getting these cuffs taken off?" he'd asked Harleen, lifting his arms up to his mangled face and beaming at her.

"No." she answered, flicking through his file. He lowered his arms, and the metal of the cuffs clattered on the wooden table.

"Is that my file?" he questioned, nodding towards the folder.

"Yes." she replied, still not shifting her gaze.

The Joker paused for a moment. "…Can I see it?"

"No."

"Do you know any other words?" he persisted, with a comedic edge to his voice.

"Yes!" agitated, she raised her voice and finally looked up at him, slamming his file shut. "Can we just get started?"

He smirked. "_Yes._"

Harleen cleared her throat. "Right. My name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel, and -"

"Wait, wait, wait," he interrupted. "What?!"

She narrowed her eyes slightly, a little taken aback, "Excuse me?"

"Your name is _Har-leen Quin-zel_?!" He mocked. "Wow, your parents didn't give you a chance in hell!" He burst into a cackle and slammed his hand down onto the table. "It sounds as if they're into jokes."

"We aren't here to discuss my parents or my name. We're here to talk about you."

"Well whaddaya wanna know, hmm? What makes me _tick?"_ He leaned forward in his seat, smiling from the left corner of his mouth and staring at Harleen.

She had stared back at him, almost captivated by his eyes. They looked cold and ominous. The Joker could tell he frightened and fascinated her at the same time. Harleen cleared her throat again and needlessly fiddled with her glasses before opening his file once again. He Joker leaned over a bit further, causing one of the guards to shuffle slightly.

"They could have used a better photo, that one's not very flattering," he joked, before leaning back into the chair.

Their first session had not been about The Joker at all, it had been about Harleen. He had wanted to try and suss her out, see if was worth playing games with. From the first time he had heard her footsteps in the corridor, he knew she was: A timid and hesitant girl working with human time bombs. She was completely out of her depth.

No, it wouldn't be too difficult to break her.


	2. Man In The Box

**Chapter 2 - Man In The Box.**

The 30th October spelled another session with Doctor Quinzel.

The Joker was led to the same room, by the same two guards. He sat in the same seat, at the same table, wearing the same handcuffs.

He slouched in his chair and looked over the table at Harleen. This was their fourth session and The Joker had gone easy on her. He hadn't threatened her, or threw himself across the table and made a grab for her (like he'd done with the other doctors). He hadn't yelled at her or even tried to tell her a joke.

He had observed her. While she was analysing his answers, he was analysing her questions. She was his doctor and it was almost as if he was hers.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked.

"On top of the world!" he answered, brightly.

"Oh?" she replied. "And why's that?"

The Joker leaned further towards her and lowered his voice, "Because I'm gonna get out of here." Harleen blinked at him, not really knowing how to respond. The Joker nodded and widened his eyes, repeating his words again; "I'm gonna get out."

Finally, Harleen spoke; "Wh-what makes you say that?" There was an apprehension to her voice.

"I don't belong in here." he said, shrugging. Harleen raised her eyebrows. "I'm not a whack-job. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Then I'd say you _definitely_ belong in here." she retorted.

The Joker sat up in his seat, as if to start a debate. "What's going on out there with me in here? Hmm? Nothing. It's boring. Everything's orderly and composed. Surely they miss the action?"

"People are safer now that you're in here. That's not boring, that's comforting."

"Not for you," he answered, a twist in his voice.

"What do you mean?" her voice shook ever so slightly. She didn't like it when he turned things around on her and got personal.

"Well," he started. "If I'm in here, then whoever I'm in here _with_ isn't safe. Right?"

Harleen thought for a moment. He was right. This man had no boundaries, no limits. He could overpower a couple of guards if he wanted to, and Harleen certainly wasn't strong enough to protect herself from him. She cleared her throat. "Are you… threatening me?"

The Joker let out a maniacal laugh, and brought his fist down onto his knee. He noticed Harleen wince as he did so. "Are you scared?"

"No." she answered quickly.

"Liar." he replied, just as quickly. "One way or another, I'll get out of here. Because it's what is _meant_ to happen. Do you really think this is how it ends? Me stuck behind bars for the rest of my life having cosy chats with some chick who thinks she can _understand_ me?" He let out a snigger. "Think about it - while I'm here, I've just got time to prepare. You can't contain me forever. I'm like a jack-in-the-box. And when I get free…" He smiled broadly, baring his yellow teeth. "KABOOM!" Harleen almost jumped out of her skin, causing The Joker to laugh even harder. "Jerky little thing, aren't ya?!"

She adjusted her glasses and started gathering her paperwork. "I think that's enough for today." She nodded at one of the guards, and the two of them stepped forward, lifting the Joker out of his seat.

"Done so soon?" he asked. "I always cherish our talks, Har-ley."

She looked up from the table, surprised at what he had called her. "It's Har_leen._ But you need to call me Doctor Quinzel."

"I prefer Harley. In fact, I _much_ prefer Harlequin. Maybe your name isn't so stupid after all." he chuckled.

"Take him." Harleen indicated towards the door, and the guards started pulling him towards it.

"Oh, one more thing!" he exclaimed, struggling against the two men. "I never did thank you for getting them to give me back my make-up."

Harleen looked up at him from her seat, expressionless. Since their first session, The Joker had always talked about wanting his make-up. And in all honesty, Harleen found him a lot less intimidating with the make up on. It took her focus off the scars slightly. So she had somehow managed to persuade the director of Arkham to let him wear it again, saying it might cause him to be more open in their sessions. "Don't mention it." she answered, as the guards led The Joker away.


	3. Trick Or Truth

**Chapter 3 - Trick or Truth.**

"Happy Halloween, Harley_!_" The Joker announced vibrantly as he sat on his bed. Harleen stepped into his ward, leaving the door open behind her.

"I told you yesterday, it's _Doctor Quinz-"_ she started.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I told you yesterday, I prefer Harley." he barked. "You know, I've been thinking."

"What have you been thinking?" Harleen asked, bringing her glasses down from on top of her head, catching her long brown hair slightly.

"Costumes!" he answered in his gravelly tone, his eyes lighting up at the word.

"Costumes?" Harleen repeated, clearly puzzled.

"Mm-Hmm." he nodded. "Since 'hallow' means 'to make sacred' I think it's only fitting to dress up on this here sacred day. I'm already halfway there…" he trailed off, looking Harleen up and down. "But you. I have something in mind for you."

Harleen stood near the doorway, not saying a word. She was curious to know what he meant. It seemed that he had developed a interest in her. She had professional reasons for not trying too hard to discourage it; the more openly she allowed him to speak, the better she could study him. But also, she could barely admit it to herself, that his fascination with her made her feel special. He hadn't lashed out at her, or done anything to try to stop their sessions, so what did this mastermind criminal want from her?

"Since I heard your name, the same image has been orbiting around in my mind," he said twirling a finger slowly round and round in front of his face. "With a name like yours, I'm sure you know what a Harlequin jester is, right?"

"Right." Harleen answered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Wouldn't it be just _perfect? _Me, The Clown Prince of Crime and you, my little sidekick, Harlequin." He let one side of his mouth curl into half a twisted smile. "We could go Trick or Treating. The ideal way to introduce myself back into society." He rose from the bed, and took a few slow steps towards her. "I'd even share my make up with you, paint your face up r-e-a-l nice."

Harleen exhaled deeply. "I just came to tell you our session today will be a little later than usual. I have a few things I need to take care of. The guards will bring you in at 4 o'clock." She turned to walk away, bemused by the things he had said.

"You don't want to celebrate Halloween with me, Harley?" he asked, imitating disappointment. Harleen turned back on her heel, opening her mouth to correct him on her name once again, but then deciding against it. "Come on." He continued. "_Live_ a little."

"I do live, thank you very much." She almost felt like she had something to prove to him. He wasn't above her; she was the doctor, he was the patient.

"Do you, Harley? Do you, really?" he took another couple of steps towards her, now he was only a foot away. "That file you have on me, it gets thicker every time I see it. Obsessed much?" he narrowed his eyes, and looked deeply into hers.

"You're my patient. Every patient has their own file." Harleen replied, trying to defend herself.

"Sure." he nodded. "But not every patient has a file like The Lord of The Rings Trilogy, now do they?"

Harleen felt her cheeks going red. The Joker stepped towards her again, he was close now. She could feel his breath on her face as he spoke.

"Have a lot to say about me, do ya? And after only a few sessions, too." he continued. "You must have been doing some research after hours. Am I right?"

Harleen trembled at every syllable. "I - I -" she tried to speak, but couldn't. He was right. Since their sessions had started she had studied The Joker endlessly. She was a prisoner of his jigsaw puzzle, which was one she couldn't complete. She had investigated his whole case; the crimes he'd committed, the people he'd killed. It was all so… enthralling. He was astounding.

"I can't wait for our session later, _Harlequin._" he whispered in her ear. "You think about what I said." The Joker walked back over to his bed and sat down. Harleen looked at him for a few moments, speechless. He sat with his hands on his knees, a smile etched onto his face, but looking right past her.


	4. 4:01pm

**Chapter 4 - 4.01pm.**

Harleen sat in the session room alone, her chin supported by her hands, her elbows resting on The Joker's file. He was so right. His was, by far, the biggest file of any patient in Arkham. She let out a heavy sigh and looked at her watch; 3.57pm.

His parting words earlier that afternoon had echoed in her head. She had thought of nothing else. He had got to her, and she knew it. He seemed to have some superhuman ability to interpret people's personalities, decipher people's weaknesses.

Harleen knew how inappropriate their relationship was. Because that is what it had now become - a relationship. She had poured all her efforts into The Joker, and yet their roles had somehow become reversed. She had spent all those years studying Psychoanalysis and being damn good at it. And now, it appeared she had spoiled all her hard work by breaking the golden rule; Getting too involved.

There meetings had only been going on for a week, but in that week she had become hollow of all her other responsibilities. She often forgot to eat. She barely slept. When she wasn't at the asylum, she wished she was. She was utterly cocooned by him. The Joker was not only her project, he was her addiction.

She turned her wrist to check the time again; 3.58pm.

She ruffled her hair with her quivery hand and let out another deep sigh. She had never met anybody else in her entire life who had noticed her secret desires. Not that she could blame anybody for that. She prided herself on veiling parts of her persona she didn't want others to detect, and doing it well. So what had gone so wrong here? How had she become so transparent?

Harleen was a peculiar kind of person; On one hand, she was timid and almost squirmy. Mouse-like. On the other, she was determined and stubborn. Her insecurities were her very foundations, though. They were rooted so deeply that she always ended up ignoring her stronger side and being engulfed by an oppressive voice in her head. How ironic it was that her weaknesses constantly managed to triumph. Story of her life.

She'd fooled a tiny part of her into thinking that Arkham would be a fresh start. That she could take control, break free of the reigns. The Joker, she figured, could be the antidote. She knew how capable she was, really she did. She just wanted to do something to really prove it and be commended. He was surely the key.

Harleen stared at the wall ahead of her, the bricks awash with cheap paint. She guessed it had once been white, but a yellowy-green tone illustrated it's age.

Things had gone off course so quickly. Her intentions were quashed more or less immediately.

'That's that, then.' She thought to herself. 'I've failed in my profession. I studied and strived, and I can't change the way my own mind is working, or even explain it.'

And so she had made a decision about today's session with The Joker. Her stomach turned over and her mouth was dry. She cleared her throat. Today, she would finally listen to her impulses.

She took another glance at her watch and starting tapping her foot anxiously; 4.01pm.

The session room door suddenly swung open. In stepped the two burly security guards; Kenneth and Jonathan. In between them; The Joker. He was humming a tune out loud, bobbing his head up and down slightly.

Harleen's heart bounced up and caught in her throat.

"Doctor Quinzel," greeted Kenneth, nodding his head. "Our apologies for being a little late. This one wouldn't leave his ward until he was given a comb for his hair."

"Well, I wanted to look my best for my favourite quack," The Joker announced, licking his lips and lifting his eyebrows. Harleen had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself grinning. She felt sweat gathering in the lines in the palms of her hands. She rubbed them on her skirt under the table and tried to compose herself. "Don't I scrub up nice, huh?" he questioned, gazing at her, his eyes twinkling.

"Take a seat," she said, looking away bashfully. Kenneth and Jonathan led The Joker to his chair, each of them with a hand round his upper arms. It was true, he was smaller in stature. They were both taller and more muscular than he was. But his presence was giant. He had this aura all around him, clouding the guards, making them look blurry. Harleen's heart was thudding so loudly, she was sure he could hear it. Or at least sense it.

"Guys," she began. "I'd like you wait outside today." She looked at the two guards, from one to the other. They looked back at her, and then at each other.

"Err…" started Jonathan lowering his eyebrows, before trailing off and looking back at Harleen.

"If you don't mind." she interrupted before either of them could protest. "And the handcuffs - we won't be needing those either." Harleen could feel The Joker looking at her. She could see his broad smile out of the corner of her eye as she looked at the guards. Her request had clearly met with his approval, and she was glad.

Kenneth and Jonathan exchanged uneasy glances again, but didn't argue with the doctor. Jonathan stepped forward, removing a set of keys from his belt loop. In response to the jangling of the keys, The Joker lifted his wrists above his head, still smiling, still looking at Harleen. She looked back at him, excitement bubbling up inside her. "Bye-bye, Jonno!" The Joker said. "Later, Kenny!"

The guards left the room, taking one last look at Harleen. "We'll be just out here. If you need _anything_." said Kenneth, reassuringly. Harleen said nothing as the door clicked closed.

"Alone at last." The Joker said quietly.


	5. Deal

**Chapter 5 - Deal**

Harleen didn't know how to begin. If she said all the things she had planned to say, there would be no turning back. She couldn't just try it out then go back and erase it if (and she was worried this might happen) she suddenly had a moment of clarity.

Her behaviour was reckless, there was no denying that. She had arranged to remove her only means of safety, leaving herself in potentially the most dangerous situation imaginable. This man, The Joker, could snap her in half like a matchstick if he saw it fit. But she wasn't scared. Not even a little bit. Her body was pumping with adrenaline. She was excited. Like the rush you'd expect before bungee jumping off a bridge or skydiving out of a plane. She was taking control, or so she told herself. She chose to ignore the fact that it was actually The Joker who had coaxed her in.

He broke the silence.

"Well this is new." he said, keeping his voice lowered. "Wanted me all to yourself, did ya Harley?"

"We need to talk." were the words that eventually came out of Harleen's mouth. Her voice sounded crackly and coarse. She felt hot and cold at the same time. She told herself to pull it together.

"We certainly do." The Joker agreed. "Something tells me today's session is going to be a little longer than yesterday's, hmm?"

"Yes." she said, sitting up straight in her seat in an attempt to look in commanding.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but he barged in; "Isn't it annoying when you want to play a card game, but you've got a card missing?" He lowered a hand into the pocket of his Arkham overalls, pulling out a deck of cards bound together with a red elastic band and plonking it onto the table.

"I - er - suppose it is, yes." Harleen answered, not really sure what he was getting at.

"_You_," he continued "Are the missing card to my deck. You know that, don't you?" He turned his head slightly to the side, as if to entice a reply from Harleen. But she still said nothing. "People think the joker cards are _useless_," he said, slowly and carefully removing the elastic band from around the deck. "But actually, they're the most significant." He placed the deck back on the table face down and slid the elastic band onto his wrist. He lifted the top two cards and placed them either side of the deck, always keeping his eyes on Harleen like a predator stalking it's pray.

She sat there silently, listening intently. Like she was his student.

"Do you know where The Joker originates from, Harley?"

She nodded. "I-it comes from a Tarot card. The, erm, Fool." she answered, desperately trying to control the tremble in her voice.

"Very good." The Joker answered, bowing his head. "The Fool. Signifying frivolity. Wild optimism. _Freedom._" he said the last word louder and clearer. "Now I'm not into hocus-pocus. But I think you'll agree, I embody the very meaning of The Fool." he leaned forward in his seat. "And so, my dear, do you."

Harleen quivered inside. What was that, pride? Delight, maybe? He was actually comparing herself to him! He _believed _in her. This amazing man, who had taken the law into his own hands on such a grand scale and caused so much uproar and carnage, truly thought she had the ability to do the same.

"You aren't like these other doctor's, Harley." he declared. "Oh, you've tried to be. You've repressed your true self for too long. I can see it. Your eyes, they show it."

Harleen could feel herself melting. He _understood_.

"You know what happens when people do that? Cracks start to appear. And then they _snap_." He clicked his fingers at the last word. "Just be yourself. Things go so much more smoothly if you just be yourself."

His voice was so smooth and flawless, she felt like she was floating. Like she was being hypnotised.

"I don't want to see you snap. Think of all the things you could do if you just took a stand."

There was something so persuasive about his words. It all made sense.

"Think of all the things _we_ could do." he said, almost whispering.

Harleen felt as if a spell had been put on her. It felt good. It felt like being covered in honey.

He placed two fingers on the card on the left hand side of the pack, and slid it across the table towards Harleen. She looked at The Joker, and then at the card in front of her. "Take it." he instructed, in his velvety tone. She did as he said and clutched at the card, turning it over.

It was a Joker card. The image on the card was a jester, dressed in black and red.

"See what I mean?" he asked. "It's all too perfect to be ignored, Harley."

She looked up at him, no longer fighting her smile. It was one of acceptance and admiration.

"You don't mind me calling you Harley anymore?" he said, matching her smile.

"You can call me Harley Quinn, if you like." she declared, her voice now strong and steady.

"Ooh!" he exclaimed, excitedly. "Now that's more like it! So we have a deal?"

"We have a deal." she agreed, slipping the card into her jacket pocket. Doctor Harleen Quinzel was no more.


	6. United, Divided

_Oops - forgot to add this in before - Kenneth and Jonathan are owned by my good self :)_

_Thanks so much to those of you who have PM'd and reviewed, keep it coming!_

_I know this story is a slow build, but please keep reading. I intend to make it worth it._

**Chapter 6 - United, Divided.**

Harley had left the session room first and just as they had promised, Kenneth and Jonathan were waiting outside. They both looked at her, expectantly.

"We're finished, here." she said, clutching The Joker's file close to her chest. "If you could take him back to his ward now, please." She began walking away down the corridor.

"Erm, Doctor Quinzel?" Kenneth called out to her. Harley stopped, wincing at the name. "Is everything ok?"

She turned around to face the guards, both with anxious expressions on their faces. "Oh, yes" she answered, matter-of-factly. "Everything's fine. We had a good session today. A breakthrough, in fact." Harley turned on her heel and strode away, her heels almost hammering on the concrete floor beneath her.

The guards re-entered the session room. The Joker had a wicked smile plastered across his face as he snapped the elastic band back round his deck of cards.

"Hey, what have you got there?" protested Kenneth.

"We were playing a little game," he answered, waving the deck back and forth. "She had a good hand."

The guards looked at each other, both clearly unsettled. Kenneth took the handcuffs from the chain on his belt loop, and on hearing them snap open, The Joker put the deck back in his pocket and lifted his wrists.

He chuckled quietly. "There's no place like home!"

As they guided his back to his ward, the guards were silent. The Joker sang.

"We're setting sail to a place on the map, from which no one has ever returned. Drawn by the promise of The Joker and The Fool, by the light of the crosses that burned …"

That evening, when Harley left the Asylum, she looked up at the window to The Joker's ward. It was dark by then, but she could make out his silhouette staring back at her. She could just about make out a flash of green on the top of his head. He waved at her. She waved back. Then she got in her car, and drove through the gates, back towards Gotham City.

At her home, she sat in the pitch black. The Joker's file on her lap, she stroked it like a cat.

In their session tomorrow, they would make a plan. They would get things moving. She could barely contain her excitement. Her vision fell out of focus as she went into some sort of trance. She could envisage it; her releasing him from Arkham, the two of them running through the security doors, jumping into her car and speeding through the open gates.

They would both be free.

At the asylum, The Joker sat on his bed shuffling his deck of cards with skill and ease. He thought to himself about Harley.

'A piece of cake. I've got her.' a grin pulled his mouth taut.

But something had happened that The Joker had not intended. He had got her, yes. But _she_ had got _him_. He couldn't get the image of her out of his mind when she told him he could call her Harley Quinn.

'This is what vulnerability must feel like.' he decided. He didn't like it. It was a weakness. He needed to show Harley that he was boss. And tomorrow, he would.

Back at Harley's home, the doorbell chimed. Her body abruptly jolted back to reality. She made her way down the dark hallway to the front door, and opened it.

"Trick or treat!" yelled a cluster of small children in unison, all dressed in Halloween costumes. Harley's eyes darted towards a young boy, he was probably about 9. He was wearing a green shirt, purple trousers and a purple jacket. He was wearing a messy green wig and his face was painted white. He had red lines drawn on either side of his mouth and black rings round his eyes like a panda. Harley let out a shriek of laughter and clapped her hands together. This little boy was dressed as The Joker! What kind of parent would let her child dress up as a real life mass-murderer?!

"I suppose you want money?" she asked, still laughing.

"Or candy!" a small witch piped up from the back of the group.

"I don't have any candy, kid." Harley said, dipping her hands into her jacket pockets. She pulled out the contents; in one hand she held a 10 bill. In the other, she held the Joker card. "Here," said she, holding out the note. "Share it out." The Little Joker snatched the money from her grasp and the children walked away. Harley shut the door, still laughing.

She looked at the card in her hand, running her thumb up and down the edge of it. She looked at the image of the jester. "_Harley Quinn, Harley Quinn…_" she whispered over and over.

In the gloom of his ward, The Joker lay on his bed. "_Harley Quinn, Harley Quinn…_" he repeated. His eyelids drooped closed and he fell into a wistful sleep, images of the woman drifting around in his head.

'Tomorrow,' he told himself. 'Tomorrow, we begin.'


	7. Power And Performance

_This story has got quite a lot of hits, but my reviews are looking a bit lonely. So if you've taken the time to read my story so far, please take a minute or two more to let me know your thoughts on it. I can take constructive criticism... just be gentle, I'm new all this!_

_Also - i think this might be my favourite chapter so far._

**Chapter 7 - Power and Performance.**

Harley awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. A snippet of her dream lingered in her head, and she concentrated hard to recollect more of it;

She had been at the asylum, dressed as a jester; exactly the same as the one on the playing card The Joker had given her. She had skipped down the corridor towards his ward and kicked the door open. She had stood in the doorway, hands on her hips. "Ready, Puddin'?" she had asked.

She rubbed her eye with her knuckle, and sniggered. '_Puddin'_?!' she thought. 'Where did that come from?'

She got herself ready for the day, carefully brushing her long straight locks, applying her make up neatly, hitching her skirt up a little shorter. To finish, she placed the Joker card in her jacket pocket.

She drove to work, fully aware she was breaking the speed limit the whole time, but not caring an inch. She arrived at Arkham at a little after 7.30 in the morning; more than an hour earlier than usual.

She used her swipe card which was on a cord round her neck to gain entry to the building. The electronic lock beep-beeped before making a buzzing noise, signalling her to enter. She pulled the heavy door open and walked through. It banged shut behind her.

Kenneth was sitting at reception. "Oh!" he said, obviously surprised to see her. "Early bird."

"Yeah," Harley responded. "Lot's to do today."

"It's always good to see an intern so dedicated." Kenneth said, smiling. "Arkham's lucky to have you."

Harley didn't know how to respond. She had all but turned her back on Arkham, they just didn't know it yet. "Thank you." she said quietly, bowing her head.

"How are things going with The Clown?" he questioned. "You mentioned a 'breakthrough' yesterday."

"What happens in doctor and patient sessions are confidential, Kenneth." she said sternly. How dare he pry like that. "And his name is The _Joker_!" Harley felt anger igniting inside her gut. Stupid guard.

"Of course," Kenneth said, stunned by her attitude. "I didn't mean anything by it, just making conversation. You have a good day, Doctor." Kenneth watched Doctor Quinzel walk away up the hallway. He thought that maybe she might be working _too_ hard. She looked tired, always pre-occupied when she wasn't in her sessions with The Joker. He hoped that lunatic wasn't getting to her, but he had noticed the change. The Doctor who arrived at Arkham all those weeks ago was polite and professional, she would never snap.

He watched her disappear round the corner at the end of the hall, heading for the stairway.

Harley climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and walked along the deserted corridor. She took her set of keys from her pocket, swinging the keyring round her index finger. She reached Ward 46, put the key in the lock and turned it. She put the keys back in her pocket.

She opened the door and The Joker stood before her, his hands behind his back. "Good morning, Harley." he said calmly. She stepped back, surprised at the sight of him awake. She assumed he would still be asleep. "I heard your footsteps. I always recognise when it's you." he continued, in response to her movement.

"Good morning." she replied, keeping her voice hushed. They walked over to the bed, side by side, and sat down simultaneously.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're here very early today. Why is that?" he probed.

"We have a lot to do today. We're going to the session room. Now." she answered forcefully.

"No. Let's stay here." he answered back.

"I _said _we're going to the session room." Harley pushed on.

"And. I. heard. you." he replied, dragging his sentence out. "You barge into my room at 7.30 in the morning, _without even knocking_ and you think you can start telling me what to do?" he let out a loud shriek of laughter, pushing his breath into Harley's face. "You really think somebody like me is just gonna stand for that, huh?" He moved right up close to her, so his face was level with hers. His dark eyes looked right into hers, through the lenses of her glasses. He saw her pupils dilate. "You should swot up on that file you have on me. Clearly it's not sinking in. I'm not your little doggie. I don't wag my tail when you say it's time for walkies."

Harley swallowed hard, and looked away from him, removing her glasses. She could tell she had a power struggle on her hands. But she had something to tell him she was sure he'd find interesting. She got up off the bed and walked to the other side of the room. This wasn't how she'd pictured it. She thought he'd be happy to see her. She was his Harley Quinn now.

"Remember the first day we met, and I told you my name?" she asked, still not raising her voice.

"Do I have dementia?!" he roared.

"No." she answered timidly.

"Then, yes!" he spat. "Of course I do. You got a point?"

"My parents named me Harleen for a reason." she began, taking a couple of steps back towards the bed.

The Joker rolled his eyes, disinterested. "If you came here at the crack of dawn to warm my heart with a story about being named after your sweet old granny, you can forget it."

"My parents were circus performers in their day. My name was _meant_ to be a play on the word Harlequin." she explained. Then she lowered her voice further. "I did some training myself."

That perked him up. His head shot back round face her. "_You_ did circus training?" asked, a trace of disbelief in his tone. Harley nodded. "So what can you do?"

A satisfied smile occupied Harley's face. She put her glasses down on the small table against the wall. She took the keys and playing card from her pocket and the swipe card from round her neck, placing them on the table as well. Then, she slipped off her high heels, pushing them out of her path with one foot. She took a pen from her blouse pocket, twisted her hair into a bun and pushed the pen through it to secure it. Then she took a deep breath as The Joker watched on.

Harley stood with her legs slightly apart and folded her body in half, putting her palms flat on the cold ground. With all her strength, she lifted her legs so she was straight once more. Her skirt slipped down slightly, flashing her milky white thighs. Then, with no sign of quaking, she pointed her legs forward, aiming them towards The Joker at a perfect right angle. Slowly, she moved one hand in front of the other, making her way across the room towards the bed where he sat.

She lined her body up opposite him and carefully placed her feet down on the mattress, either side of him. In an amazing fluid motion, she flipped her entire body over onto her knees, finishing up in a straddle position.

"That's what I can do," she said smugly, her faces just inches away from his.

He ran his hands up her thighs. "Bravo."


	8. One On One

**Chapter 8 - One On One**

"Anything else you'd like to own up to, dark horse?" he enquired, sliding his hands round to her back and firmly pulling her further onto his lap.

Harley draped her arms over his shoulders, a light, relaxed smile across her face. She knew her little routine would impress him. As she sat there with him, their bodies that close, it felt so right. Like it was a natural progression. "Ask me anything." She pulled the pen out of her hair, letting it swing down past her shoulders.

"How _good _are you?" he said.

Harley blinked at him.

"At this circus stuff. What else can you do?" he was curious. From what he had seen already, The Joker was confident she'd be of much more value to him once he got free than he had first thought.

Harley explained how her parents had met when her mother, Caitlyn, had failed to get into college and was kicked out of her home by her ashamed father. As a trained gymnast, she had followed her dream and joined The Big Apple Circus. There she met Sebastian Quinzel, a fire-eater.

"He'd been with the circus all his life. They got together, got married, had me. The rest is history." she scooted quickly through the story, not wanting to test his patience too much.

"Mm-hmm. How very in-ter-est-ing." he extended the last word, as if he was plotting something. "You're a little firecracker underneath the suit and specs, aren't you Harley?"

She giggled. "Whatever you need me to do, I can do it. I'm capable."

"Well I'm glad to hear _that_." he uttered, that familiar twisted smile returning on one side of his mouth. "But I'm gonna need to test that theory out." She felt his grip on her tighten.

"H-how?" she asked, uneasily.

Without warning, he leapt up off the bed, still with his hands interlocked around Harley's back. He squeezed her so tightly against him she could hardly catch her breath. He threw her down on the bed, climbing onto her, laughing as he did so. His strong hands pinned her arms down, and Harley started to struggle, not quite sure what he was going to do next.

"C'mon, my little _acrobat_. Fight me! I wanna see how you fight!" he provoked.

Harley paused for moment and looked at him, really looked at him. He had this ferocious look in his eyes. Well, he always looked kind of wild and untamed, but this was something more. It was like the prospect of violence and brutality awoke something inside of him; that ferocious look was _passion._

"What if I hurt you?" as soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't.

The Joker erupted with rasping laughter. "Show me what you got, Harley!" He moved his hands down her arms to her wrists. He gripped them, lifted them off the bed and slammed them back down with such force that the whole bed shook. "Don't hold back. 'Cause I sure won't!"

He was kneeling astride her, her legs stretched out straight between his. Swiftly, she bent her left leg, pulling it in towards her body, so her knee was between their chests. Then, as hard as she could she booted him in the gut. The force lifted his whole body off her as he coughed and spluttered, giving her just enough time to bring her right leg up to meet her left one. With all her might, pushing her hands down on the mattress for leverage, she flung her feet into his chest, sending him backwards.

He fell, landing on his back on the solid floor. She sprang off the bed, but as her feet hit he floor next to him, she heard him growl through his teeth. He made a grab for her ankle and pulled it, causing her whole body to jerk. Harley let out a high pitched yelp as she fell across his stomach, her face smacking against the floor.

She heard The Joker grunt as he rolled her body off from on top of him. She turned over onto her front just in time to see him attempting to get to his feet. He was on all fours, down by her legs. She wanted to please him, and he _had _asked to see her fight. So she took the opportunity and kicked out at him with her foot, catching him under the chin and once again sending him flying backwards. He hit the concrete with a thud and released a howl of laughter.

"Ooh, Harley!" he shouted, holding his stomach as he rolled around on the floor cackling. "You didn't need much persuasion to kick my ass, did you?!"

He scrambled across the floor towards Harley, who was now using her elbows to sit up. Without notice, The Joker slapped her across the face with the back of his hand, making a noise like a balloon being burst with a sharp pin. Harley's arms gave way. Her shoulder blades hit the ground with a thud.

She felt dizzy.

Her eyes flickered.

And everything went black.


	9. Made The Cut

_Here is the now completed chapter 9, as promised. Hope those of you who are following this story are enjoying it._

**Chapter 9 - Made The Cut.**

It was laughter, but it was all… echoy and muffled, like when you're underwater. A dream, perhaps? Sounds were warbling in and out, mostly inaudible. But she thought she could make out the words 'up' and 'bitch'.

She struggled to concentrate, her head was swimming. She felt as if someone was trying to lift her arms. Or maybe, her legs? She couldn't tell, she was just a dead weight.

She tried to focus her energy on opening her eyes, which felt to her as if they were sealed shut. Her concentration was interrupted all of a sudden; something forceful struck her hard on the side of her head. At least it felt like that's where she'd been hit. Whatever and wherever it was seemed to clear the jam. Her eyes shot open and she could hear everything clearer again. She let out a moan of shock and pain. Her head and neck _ached._

Harley heard his laughter again. "Back in the land of the living!" The Joker proclaimed.

"Did you just call me a bitch?" she croaked, looking up at him. She was back on the bed now, he was standing over her. She tried to drag her body up, but he pushed her shoulder back down with two fingers and a thumb. She left out a yelp like an injured puppy and squeezed her eyes shut. "I guess you screwed up my shoulder, too."

He sniggered, playfully. "You started it."

She opened her eyes once more, and glared up at him. He gazed back at her, his head cocked to one side. He moved his hand up, Harley tried not to wince, but he went past her face. He gently stroked her hair. She let out a sigh of relief.

"You're a real knockout." he told her.

She smiled as widely as the pain in her jaw would allow her to. "Really? I did good then?"

"No, honey." he knelt down beside her, chuckling. "I _mean_ I knocked you out! You need to work on that."

"Oh." she said, dejected. She bit on the corner of her lip.

"Hey." The Joker said, almost softly. Harley looked over at him. "I'm proud of you. That's quite a kick you got there!"

He was _proud_! Harley instantly felt like all of the pain had just dissolved away. No one had ever said those words to her before. Well, nobody who really mattered to her, nobody who probably truly meant it anyway. But she had gained this _acceptance_ from him. Him! Of all people! Out of everybody, she had make an impact on The notorious Joker.

She had left the circus when she was 18. Her parents had wanted her to marry Scott, a trapeze artist. When she had refused and announced she wanted to go to College instead, her father had told her he was ashamed to call her his daughter.

"We raise you to follow in our profession, we teach and train you. And this is the thanks we get! I'm so disappointed in you, Harleen." She had never forgotten his words. He'd said them with such spite. But he didn't understand. She'd been teased at school for being part of a 'freak show' family.

She had performed with The Big Apple Circus predominantly as a contortionist, mostly to a chorus of horrified shrieks. It was embarrassing, being different. Harleen blamed her parents for making her this way. They'd moulded her into this performance, this act. She didn't like standing out. She stood out for all the wrong reasons. It made her feel rotten.

At school, she'd kept her head down and studied hard, knowing she would get there one day: She would leave. And on the day her parents had informed her of their plans to 'marry her of' to Scott so they could carry on the tradition, Harleen decided that day had finally come.

When people resolve to take control of their lives, it's usually to do something amazing and unusual - much like her own mother had done all those years ago. But Harleen craved normality. She had put so much effort into her studies, her grades were excellent. Now was her time to be rewarded for her endeavours.

She was 18 by then, and had been accepted into The UCG - The University College of Gotham - to study Psychoanalysis, unbeknown to Caitlyn and Sebastian.

She packed her things (not that there was much to pack; mostly books), got into her car and drove away without looking back.

As she recalled the events of 4 years ago, a snapping sound jolted her back into the present moment. It was The Joker clicking his fingers in front of her face.

"Don't fall asleep on me again. The Land of Nod is boring!" he said.

"How long was I knocked out for? What time is it?" Harley asked.

He took her hand in his and flipped it over, revealing the watch face on the inside of her wrist. "8.40" he told her. "You've had a scrap _and_ a nap and you're _still_ early for work."

Harley tittered. The Joker stood up and held out his hands, indicating that she should take them. She slowly lifted herself into a sitting position and gripped his fingers with hers. He pulled her up onto her feet, her muscles aching.

It was worth it, she told herself.

She brushed herself down, tidying up her outfit. She put her security card back round her neck, her shoes back on her feet and her keys in her pocket. Then she picked up the playing card. The Joker stood by her side, he too looking at the card in her hand.

He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his familiar deck of cards, bound together with that red elastic. He pulled the top card free, holding it between two fingers and flipping it over. It was identical to the card he gave Harley. Aside from two additions he had made to his own card; the jester's eyes now had black rings drawn around them and his mouth was now covered with a scruffy red line.

"What. A. Pair." he said in Harley's ear, propelling a shiver right down her spine. "Nice work. You made the cut."


	10. New Purpose

**Chapter 10 - New Purpose**

Harley tried to strategically place her hair so it was covering an angry looking bump between her ear and her cheekbone. It wasn't working.

'It doesn't look too bad,' she told herself, examining her face in her compact mirror. 'Just a bit pink.'

It was true, it didn't look too bad. But if any of the staff at the asylum spotted it, it would definitely arouse suspicion. Especially with Kenneth, who had seen her that morning - minus a bump.

She had left Ward 46 at around 8.45, telling The Joker she would send the guards to collect him for their session at 1pm. It was now midday. She sat at her office desk staring at her computer screen watching the cursor flash on the blank document. She was meant to be writing a progress report on her patient, The Joker. It was due in to her superiors by the end of the week. She had 2 more days to complete it, and so far, she hadn't written a single word.

Instead, she had spent all morning pondering on her current situation. In her head, it went something like this:

She (Doctor Harleen Quinzel) had scored an amazing internship at the renowned, almost legendary, Arkham Asylum.

She had literally jumped for joy when she received the letter of conformation, believing said internship to be a stepping stone onto the path of major career success.

On her first day at Arkham, she made the impulsive decision to have an 'all guns blazing' attitude, by asking for a trial session with The Joker.

Her pleads eventually paid off as her wish was granted. Thankfully meaning she could wave bye-bye to Ronald Walker - her previous patient - a pathetic lump of a person, with an unhealthy fascination with rats and other rodents.

And then she met him. Her muse. _Her_ fascination. Oh, how grateful to him she (Harley) was. He had dragged her from the pit of darkness. She finally had somebody who knew her, really knew her. And they were such a suitable match. Obviously, it was all meant to be.

She couldn't wait to see him that afternoon, not long to wait now. She should have told the guards to bring him down at 12.30, she thought to herself. Then she'd get to see him again, hear his voice sooner. Then they'd be able to make some real arrangements. No, she couldn't wait any longer. And besides, she needed to tell him all about her _costume._

Harley looked over to the right hand side of the table. Next to her computer keyboard, was her playing card. She placed a finger in the middle of it and pulled it over to her.

She stared at the image: the jester was wearing a red and black all in one suit. The colours alternated; one black arm, one red arm. One black leg, one red leg. She knew she could get it looking _just right._

When she packed her belongings, she left nothing behind. Even if she thought she would never really use it or need it again. She had a couple of reasons for this; she didn't want to leave a trace of her existence with her mother and father. She hadn't got parents anymore, so why should they have a daughter? Also, she wasn't quite sure how things would work out for her when she got herself settled in Gotham. So she just took everything, knowing that there'd be plenty of her possessions she'd be able to sell if she needed to.

She had done this with a few things over the years, but there were some things she just hadn't been able to let go of. Her circus outfits. She wasn't sure at the time why she hadn't tried to sell them to a costume store or even just handed them on to a theatre company or something. But every so often, she would take them out of her closet to look at them. To remember what she walked away from.

She never put them on, though.

And now, they had a purpose again. Amongst her array of outfits, she happened to have one red catsuit. She also had one black catsuit. All she'd need to do was a bit of cutting and sewing and it'd be exactly like the picture. And exactly like The Joker had pictured.

This time when she put her costume on, she wouldn't be 'the circus freak'. She'd be Harley Quinn: The Joker's sidekick. She'd wear her colours with pride and this time, she wouldn't just be showing her beloved what she was made of. She'd be proving it to the whole of Gotham.

And she'd be showing Batman that together, she and The Joker were a force to be reckoned with.


	11. One Door Closes

**Chapter 11 - One Door Closes, Another Opens**

"Are we to wait here or outside today, Doctor Quinzel?" asked Kenneth and he and Jonathan led The Joker to his seat.

"Outside. Please." she answered. "And you can take the cuffs away again as well."

Kenneth removed the handcuffs from The Joker's wrists, and the two of them left the session room.

They were alone again.

Harley turned her head to the side and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Does it look bad?" she asked, indicating the bump on her head, which had started to turn more of a purple-red colour.

"It looks great." he answered.

She smiled. She liked not having to hide it in front of him. She was kind of proud of it, like a war wound. Ok, so it was from him hitting her. But Harley liked to think of it as more of a gift than an affliction.

She told him about her idea for her costume. She told him she would get it ready that night.

"Well I have to admit, Harley," he said, that customary sly grin on his face. "I really can't wait to see you wearing it."

Harley got up from her chair, and moved around to the other side of the table, where The Joker was sitting. He didn't follow her path, he just looked straight ahead to the back of the room. Harley stood behind him and put her hands on his broad shoulders. "Now." she started, moving her hands down to his chest. "Let's talk about getting the hell out of here." she whispered.

She had barely finished her sentence, when an almighty rumble shook the entire room. Harley and The Joker fell to the ground simultaneously. The table and chairs were turned onto their sides, crashing to the floor. The deafening noise continued and the room quavered; as if a giant hand had picked it up from above and shook it like a snow globe.

The floor split, making a sound like a million whips cracking in unison. Over the din, Harley could hear The Joker's hysterical laughter. The two of them lay in a messy heap on the floor watching the ground quake around them.

A giant crack appeared from one side of the room, down the wall and onto the floor.

Harley scrambled across the floor towards the upturned table. "Help me with this!" she called out to The Joker as she frantically struggled to flip the table back over. He made a grab for the other side, shoving it upwards, and the pair hurried underneath it. Harley could still hear his laughter as the ceiling over them caved in. Dust and bricks and concrete came tumbling in from all directions, slamming onto the tabletop that shielded them. She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as she held on to a leg of the table. She felt The Joker grab at her leg and pull it hard.

"Don't shut your eyes!" he yelled at her. "Watch!" he let out a big howl, like a fan at a football game.

Harley opened her eyes - she could see daylight. She slid herself around in a circle on to floor to see the damage. The walls, the ceiling, they'd all collapsed. The rumbling continued as she drank in the sight. She couldn't believe it. "Oh, my God!" she cried out, clinging to the arm of The Joker's overalls.

Lumps of brick and concrete came hurtling across what was left of the room as Harley turned her head to face where the door had once been. She could see out to the corridor where the guards had been waiting. It looked like a castle ruin.

The shattered floor continued to vibrate underneath them and more debris slammed into the tabletop, making Harley flinch. She pulled her legs into her body and tightened her grip on The Joker's arm. He shook her off, laughing.

"Don't be such a sissy!" he spat. "We've got front row seats to the sky falling in, and you're spoiling the fun!" He continued to whoop and cheer as Harley watched on. She squinted to see through the dust. She could just make out the iron gates of the asylum surrendering to the earthquake.

The roaring finally began to subside, dust filled the air. The scene in front of them looked hazy and dream-like. And then - silence.

"Holy shit," Harley whispered, her voice trembling. The Joker scampered out from under the table, like an excited puppy. He dashed around on the floor, hurtling himself over the jumble; the contents of rooms that were once on the floors above.

Harley reluctantly emerged from the protection of the table, her eyes scanning the site. She quickly checked her body; not a scratch on her. Her skirt had a bit of grey dust on one side, but nothing else. She hopped over the wreckage and over to the corridor, using the piles of rubble as stepping stones. She could see an arm poking out from under the tumbled wall. Kenneth's arm. In his hand was, she could barely believe it, his set of keys. It seemed so aptly placed. The Joker bounced over to where she was, just as she made a grab for the bunch from the lifeless hand.

"Bingo!" he proclaimed, snatching the keys from her. "Every key to every door in the…" he looked around. "…Building. Ha! Must be my lucky day!" He set off down the hallway, Harley following close behind him. He keep his focus straight ahead, but she was looking in every direction. The place was _demolished. _"Maybe we won't be needing the keys after all!" he called out.

They reached where the front reception had once been. The desk counter was now in pieces. The security monitors reduced to wires and components. And a guard - Harley couldn't quite remember his name; Eric? Earl? - lying motionless on the floor, blood trickling from his ear, nose and mouth.

"Wakey, wakey!" The Joker yelled, one foot on the guards chest. He paused for an answer. "Deranged murderer on the loose!" The guard didn't move. The Joker turned to Harley; "I don't think he'll be bothering us."

"We can't be the only ones who survived, surely?" she said, looking around her.

"Sure we can!" The Joker answered brightly. "Now - where did they put my toys?"


	12. Divine Intervention

**Chapter 12 - Divine Intervention**

The room behind reception was where the personal effects of patients were kept. The walls were still standing and the door was still intact. Harley found the correct key for the door, which wasn't difficult, thanks to Kenneth's labelling. The door swung open, revealing 4 overturned filing cabinets and paperwork littered across the floor. Rows of lockers covered the walls. The Joker walked over to the locker labelled 'Ward 46' and tapped on it. "Open Sesame!" Harley followed and opened it with the appropriate key.

"Come to Daddy!" he shrieked with excitement, emptying the locker of it's contents. "Ooh, I've missed you! I've missed you." he pulled out his clothing from a clear plastic bag and set them down on one of the upended cabinets. Harley didn't know whether to look away or not as he took off his grey Arkham overalls. He looked up at her as he buttoned up his green shirt. "Don't you know it's rude to stare? If you wanted to get a quick peek, you shoulda just asked!" he teased.

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head playfully. "Just hurry up, will you?"

"I wanna look my best on the day of my _release!_" he said, adjusting his tie.

As she stood there looking at him get dressed, Harley felt as if this was the start of something amazing. There he was, in this snappy - albeit daft - suit, just as she had seen him on all those news reports. Just as see had seen him in the photographs in the patient file she had put together herself. And now, although she wasn't sure where her decision would lead her, she was certain that the next time his picture would appear in a news report, hers would appear next to it.

Unexpectedly, the ground began to shake once more. It was an aftershock. Harley found herself hurtling towards The Joker, throwing her arms round his neck to stop herself from falling.

"Come on Harley, let's dance! I feel like dancing!" he exclaimed, swinging her round and humming a tune loudly over the noise of the earth shuddering. Harley couldn't help but giggle. It _was_ funny. He was strong, dragging her round and round, kicking the paperwork which lay strewn across the floor as he went. She joined in, letting him spin her in a circle. "Listen to that _beautiful_ music!" he yelled, and Harley laughed. She felt so free, she was glad she had let herself go, just like him.

They danced until the aftershock settled and everything was quiet again. It was an eerie silence.

"We should get out off here." Harley suggested. "We don't know who else made it."

"Obstacles can be removed, Harley!" The Joker responded, pulling two knives from the plastic bag. "Ooh, my babies!" he said with a boisterous shriek, examining the knives as if to reacquaint himself with them. He started taking more and more knives from the bag, and putting them into the pockets of his jacket and trousers. Then he held one out to Harley. she took it without question and slid it into the waistband of her skirt. "Let's rock an' roll!" he stated with his eyes wide. He looked ready.

They walked back out towards reception, the security doors ahead of them. Harley went to grab her security card from round her neck, but then quickly realised it wasn't needed. All that was left was the metal doorframe and across the battered ground were shards of the reinforced glass, which obviously wasn't reinforced enough.

The pair made their way out onto the car park, which had endured the earthquake pretty well compared to the rest of the building. Harley made for her car, The Joker close by her side. "Nice wheels, Harley." he said. "Go on, let me drive!" he had the look of an excited child, she just couldn't say no to him. And even if she did, she knew he would probably take no notice of her anyway. She tossed her car keys to him.

Harley took one last look at the remains of Arkham Asylum. In a strange way, it looked like a cardboard box with the majority of all four sides ripped away, the edges uneven and serrated. Beds were randomly spotted here and there. Office desks, half a bathtub, Harley even spotted a washing machine. And there was water spurting into the air from behind what was left of a ward wall. She surprised herself by smiling at the view.

"Saved me the trouble of torchin' the place." The Joker said as they both got into the car.

They drove away from the asylum, the wheels of the car rolling awkwardly over the iron gates, which were now flat on the ground.

Harley directed The Joker back to Gotham, through the streets of the city. The damage didn't look so bad here, the epicentre of the quake must have been in another direction. There were a few uprooted trees, a street light that had smashed through a shop window, some cracks in the road, but nothing major.

"Don't you think it's odd?" she asked, as they drove through the city. "All of this?"

The Joker look over at her for a moment, clearly not having a clue what she meant.

"I sad we needed to find a way to escape and suddenly, the walls give way. It looks as if we may have been the only ones who survived, my car didn't even get a scratch and by the looks of the city, we still have an apartment to go back to!" she listed. "That doesn't same at all strange to you?"

"No." he said, matter-of-factly. "It makes perfect sense."

Harley directed him down a quiet street, towards her apartment building. She watched how he took the wheel and controlled the car. He was a good driver. She'd go as far as to say he was a _safe_ driver. Not at all reckless, he didn't even once push the speed limit. It amused her, but she decided not to point it out to him.

Unaware of her thoughts, he continued. "The big guy upstairs probably thought his little board game was getting a bit tedious with out me playing. Think of it as a 'get out of jail free' card!" He laughed at his own analogy.

Harley raised her eyebrows "Are you saying this was all an act of God?"

"I'll settle for Divine Intervention. I told you I wasn't meant to be in a box. I told you I'd get out. And whaddaya know… I did!" he said smugly. Harley indicated for him to pull into a driveway, and he stopped the car. "Home sweet home, huh?"

Harley looked out of the windows of the car. It was still broad daylight and she was sitting in her car with the city's most feared criminal. "We need to get you inside without anybody seeing you." she said, looking down at his suit and then up at his painted face. "So… just be subtle. C-can you do subtle?"

The Joker let out a raucous cackle, and hit down hard on the car horn repeatedly. Harley made a grab for his wrists to stop him, but he was so forceful, it made no difference. So she did the only thing she knew would get his attention. She swiftly plucked the knife from her waist and held it to his throat. He stopped immediately and stared at her - a look of utter disbelief and amusement smeared across his decorated face.

"I _said_ be _subtle!_ she roared at him, shocked by her own actions. "Do what I tell you!"

The Joker slowly moved his hand up to Harley's, blinking slowly in a placid fashion. He prised the blade from her fingers with ease and used it to sweep her hair from her face. "Don't do that again." he said monotonously. "The next time you try to stop me from doing something, anything," he continued "I'll cut you open like a fish."

Harley swallowed hard. She felt like she should say 'Yes, sir' but she was too scared to speak.

The Joker tossed the knife into the air, catching it again by the blade. He pointed the handle at Harley and again, she silently accepted it. She returned the knife to the waistband of her skirt and the pair climbed out of the car.


	13. Presumed Dead

**Chapter 13 - Presumed Dead**

Magnolia walls. Laminate wood floors. And little else. Nothing to really show that somebody _lived_ there. No photo's, no notes on the fridge, no _personality_. It all looked so clinical.

'Freakin' quacks…' The Joker thought to himself as he walked round the apartment.

Harley got to work quick on her costume, knowing they wouldn't be able to stay at the apartment for more than a night. She'd lived there for 4 years and now she'd have to leave. She didn't care. She had nothing to stay there for. It was just a building and she had no attachment to it. And she knew she'd be going on to better things. She was sure that once she and The Joker had got started and she could prove to him properly how much of a use she would be, that everything would be fine. He wouldn't have to get angry at her anymore.

She could tell he was frustrated at hanging about the place now that he was free. She supposed it was like moving from one prison to another, just standing around doing nothing. As she stitched various different pieces of fabric together, she put the television on for him knowing he hadn't seen one in a while. Whatever programme had been on previously had been interrupted, and red text on the bottom of the screen read 'Breaking News'.

"Ooh, goody!" The Joker exclaimed, finally taking a seat. He sat on the edge of the sofa, rubbing his hands together.

A news reporter in a sharp suit was standing outside Arkham Asylum, or at least what was left of it. There were fire-fighters lifting the rubble and police tape around the perimeter of the building.

"…Asylum suffered particularly badly and the hands of this natural disaster. This six storey building has now been reduced to wreckage. Gotham City Fire Department have started work on removing as much as the debris as possible as quickly as they can, in order to determine whether there have been any survivors. Although, according to the chief of GCFD, it is unlikely that any of the inmates or staff in the building at the time of the quake would have been able to endure this…" he explained, dramatically.

"Wrong!" The Joker chimed, a spring in his voice. It made Harley jump, and she pricked herself in the finger with her sewing needle.

"Amongst the 71 inmates at Arkham, undoubtedly the most infamous is The Joker…" the reporter continued as a mugshot of the subject appeared on the screen.

"Ah, here we go," The Joker said, leaning further forward in his seat and listening intently. Harley watched as well as the reporter spoke. She was a little disappointed to see his face on TV, without hers next to it as she had imagined. All in good time, she told herself.

"…brought to the asylum on July 30th of this year after devastating attacks on Gotham City, including the demolition of Gotham General Hospital, this 'clown' has been monitored closely by psychiatrists…"

The Joker spoke over the sound of the television set. "'monitored closely by psychiatrists'?" he quoted, looking over at Harley and raising his eyebrows. "More like 'drooled over by a certain intern'. Right?"

"Oh, shut up!" Harley answered playfully. "You wish."

"Well, my wish came true pretty quick, didn't it? I must have been a good boy." he said, turning his attention back to the news report.

"…it would now appear that this incident has put an end to the life of a deranged man, who struck fear into the lives of so many others. Not to mention the other 70 patients of the establishment, most of whom were imprisoned indefinitely due to the severe nature of their crimes and mental instabilities. The most tragic outcome of this earthquake is, without question, the certain loss of the lives of so many dedicated and talented doctors…"

"Is that it?" The Joker said, an unsatisfied tone to his voice. "They just assume I'm dead? Nice memorial I got there - 'an end to the life of a deranged man'?!" he rose from his seat, pacing the room. "The big bad Bat couldn't stop me, do they really think an earthquake would stop me?"

"Erm, excuse _me_," Harley stated, setting her half finished costume down on the empty seat beside her and standing up. "They think I'm dead too. Along with all the other doctors."

"And it's just as well. They can all carry on with their heads stuck up there in the clouds, believing they can sleep easy now that I'm _dead_. It all adds to the element of surprise. Our beloved Bat will be reassuring himself that he never has to plan his next move. I bet he's got a little bat-shaped notebook that he carries around with him, writing down witty little comebacks for every time we have a stand-off! Everyone in this city who didn't lose anything will be _glad_ the loony bin toppled over. They think it erased a few problems. Oh but when the bin toppled over, a couple of characters made it out alive, didn't they Harley?"

She didn't answer him. She knew he wasn't finished.

"And by the time I bound back onto the scene with you, my little jester, in tow, they'll wish you were dead too. Who would of thought that the destruction caused by a major earthquake would calm people down huh, _Doctor_? And they call me crazy."

"Well," Harley started. "As long as they think we're buried under a bunch of bricks, the more time we have." She settled back down to continue on her project.


	14. Like Me, Like You

_Just wanted to thank you guys for your reviews so far – it's really encouraging!_

_Somebody mentioned the earthquake maybe being a bit too easy – I actually got that idea from one of the comic storylines. When Harley was a patient at Arkham, there was an earthquake which destroyed the building, allowing her to escape._

_Hope this chapter is to your liking :)_

**Chapter 14 - Like Me, Like You**

The sky was a sinister shade of navy blue, as he looked out of the bathroom window into the night. He could see squares of orange light filling various windows of other apartments and houses across from Harley's, and some in the distance of Gotham City. It was nearly 2 o'clock in the morning and some people still had their lights on.

'Maybe some of them had children who were unnerved by the earthquake,' he thought to himself. 'Little do they know that a much greater threat is only yards away from them, unnoticed and undisturbed. Little do they know that I'm back in their suburb, living just as they are; eating dinner in front of the TV. Taking a shower without the supervision of a uniformed guard. Able to sleep in a comfortable bed.'

On that notion, The Joker left the bathroom. Rubbing his wet hair with a towel and with another one wrapped around his waist, he made his way across the hall to Harley's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, but the lights were out. He slinked through the doorway silently, seeing Harley sleeping soundly on the bed. The curtains didn't quite meet in the middle, allowing a streak of moonlight to spill into the room and over her face. Her skin appeared pale, almost ashen. The dull glow excluded the hollows of her eye sockets as they were filled with shadows instead. The Joker sat down on the edge of the bed looking at her, deciding he'd never seen her look so beautiful.

The very thought made him all squirmy inside. Sure, he'd thought of women as 'beautiful' before. He'd even thought Rachel Dawes was, and told her so. But that was different, he assured himself. He had no emotional connection with her. He hadn't given a crap if she, as a person, had lived or died. She was just a set of features that were evenly placed over a face. Nothing too special about that. And besides, the only reason he'd told her she was beautiful was to make her feel uneasy. For as long as he could remember, he'd got kicks from being able to influence the emotions of others. He liked the way it made him feel; dominant and superior.

He'd made little remarks to Harley about her appearance before, because he liked to see her blush. He took pleasure in seeing her cheeks flush pink at his comments. She always played with her glasses as well, he liked that. It was like she was trying to regain her concentration but he could tell she could never make it work. He remembered her clearing the squeaky tone her voice sometimes had from her throat; another of her little mannerisms he'd grown quite attached to.

But what had started as manipulation for his own advantage, had quickly spiralled out of his control. His defences had come crashing down, too quick for him to prevent it. 'Just like Arkham and that earthquake' he thought. He was losing power against it. That had never happened to him before. It felt confusing. But more than that, it felt as if he should fight it anyway, just to protect himself. He supposed that's what other people would do - if something happened to them that they weren't sure of. It seemed quite rational to try to push it away.

He carried on looking at her as she slept. She looked almost exactly as she had done that morning in the asylum when she was unconscious. Except tonight, she was wearing a slight smile, like she was dreaming of something nice. And every so often she would breath a little heavier and emit a gentle purring sound. He tried to think of things he didn't like about Harley as she lay there and became annoyed when he couldn't think of a single thing.

He liked the way she had tried to contest against a partnership with him to begin with. True, it hadn't worked. And to be fair to Harley, that wasn't her fault. He knew how persuasive he could be.

He liked how she could be coy and bashful. It allowed him to behave the way he did, and virtually encouraged it.

But then he also admired how she had surprised him with her strength. She could be spontaneous and difficult sometimes. He enjoyed having to struggle against her occasionally. They were starting to learn how far they could push one another and when it was time to ease off a little. Almost like, dare he even think it? Almost like - a couple?

The Joker shook his head violently, shaking away these stupid thoughts. What was happening?

'She's just a _person.' _ he warned himself. 'Same as all the others in this shithole of a city. She does have her uses, for now. But soon she won't anymore, she'll just get in my way. The moment she becomes a nuisance, I can discard her.'

Harley stirred a little. She gently moved her body over to one side and nuzzled the pillow, oblivious to The Joker's silent battle. The thoughts he had abandoned just moments ago seemed to grow from nowhere again.

He tried to think of other things to distract himself. He shuffled on the edge of the bed, turning his back on Harley. In his mind, he pondered on things he liked; things he had liked before he had met her, things that had formed his personality and that he had based his very existence around.

'Knives… Blood… Provoking The Bat…' he listed.

"Wait!" he said aloud, without realising. Back inside his head he rewound to the first two words; knives and blood. He turned to face Harley again. "You and me…" he whispered. He slowly moved up the bed towards her on his hands and knees, being careful not to touch her so as not to stir her. Beads of water dripped from his body onto hers. "It's more like hero worship, isn't it, Harley? You want to be just like me." On the dresser beside the bed lay the knife she had held to his throats just hours before. He took it in his hand as he became level with Harley. He twirled the blade between his fingers. "I wonder if it would make you happy… to _look_ like me."

The blade made contact with the left corner of Harley's mouth. Only gently, she couldn't feel it yet. The Joker traced a delicate line from his starting point in the direction of her cheek. He put a bit of pressure on the sharp tool as he did so. Like a surgeon with a scalpel, he used precision and delicacy. He dragged the knife over her skin slowly, watching the join in her upper and lower lips pull a little as he edged towards the fleshier part of her face. He pushed down a little harder and felt the blade sink into her skin. Not far, but just enough. It was soft like a sponge.

Blood started to trail behind the blade of the knife as he traced the wound on Harley's face. It trickled out of the fine line he had carved, dripping slowly back into her mouth.

Suddenly, Harley let out an unsettled sigh. She scrunched up her face and licked the blood away from her lips. The Joker pulled the knife away from her just as Harley's eyelids shot open. Her focus darted between the blade and his face. He had that look she'd recognised before - that ferocious passion.

"W-what have you done?"


	15. Stranger

_I wanted to add in another thank you to those of you who have read and reviewed the chapters so far. It hasn't gone unnoticed and it's very much appreciated!_

**Chapter 15 - Stranger**

Harley could taste the blood on her tongue, that metallic flavour. Although her eyes were level with his she felt oppressed, like he was towering over her. She could see the blade glimmering in the moonlight as The Joker stroked the handle with his thumb.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and tried to blink them away. The sight of her getting more upset would probably only spur him on, she thought. She felt her chest trembling as she struggled to breath properly. He didn't answer her, he didn't say a word. He just looked at her and watched her panic, as if to study her reactions.

Harley felt so vulnerable. This was different to any time they'd been alone in his ward or the session room at the asylum. He was in her house, in her room. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking they didn't know each other, that he'd broken into her home in the middle of the night and demanded money or valuables. But that wasn't the case. He was still wearing the pale green towel she had left in the bathroom for him when he took a shower. His clothes were thrown over the back of a chair by Harley's bedroom window. And he wasn't interested in her cash or possessions. So what _was_ he doing?

She tried to pull herself together and control her breathing as he continued to stare at her. But now she noticed, he was studying the cut he had left on her face. Slowly, she moved her arm towards his. She made sure he could see her doing it, she didn't want to startle him while he was holding a weapon. She made contact with his elbow and ran her hand up towards his. She curled her fingers round his fist as he held firmly onto the knife.

"Let go of the knife," she whispered, trying to steady her voice.

Harley saw his jaw shift slightly as he gritted his teeth. He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them once more, they were locked on hers.

Finally he spoke. "What did I say would happen the next time you told me what to do?" he asked, his voice raised only a little louder than hers.

Harley sat up slightly on the bed. A single tear rolled down her cheek, merging with the blood from the slit.

She looked at The Joker right in the eyes, gripping his hand tightly. "Please." she said, begging him.

The only sound breaking the silence around them was his breathing. It was getting heavier and heavier, like he was going to lose his temper. Harley tried to prepare herself for the worst; she shut her eyes as tightly as she could, screwing her face up. She could feel a sharp pain starting from the corner of her mouth where the gash was. Her whole body went tense with trepidation.

She was still holding onto his clenched hand when suddenly, she felt The Joker launch his arm backwards. Her eyes shot open, in time to see the knife rotating through the air away from them. It landed with a soft pat near the end of the bed.

Harley couldn't believe it, was this _mercy?_ Did he even know what that was?

Before she could even answer her own question in her mind, The Joker had grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and pulled her off the bed. Without saying a word, he dragged her down the hallway, towards the bathroom. He smacked the light-switch on the wall with a flat hand, illuminating the room. He shoved Harley in front of the mirrored cabinet.

"Look!" he yelled in her ear, shaking her slightly with the hand he still had steadily on the back of her neck.

Harley looked nervously at her reflection.

But she was surprised with the image that met her; it wasn't bad. There was a tiny red line, which looked like nothing more than a bad scratch. She probably could have done worse with her fingernail if she dug it into her skin deep enough. She looked at The Joker's reflection in the mirror as he stood beside her.

"If I wanted to disfigure you, I would have. Let this be a reminder to you, Harley." he warned her. "Clean yourself up." He turned and left the bathroom. Harley watched him walk down the hallway into the darkness, and back into her bedroom. She looked back at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were watery. Her skin was pale. The fright had drained the colour from her cheeks. She looked at her cut, with blood smeared around it.

At college, she had briefly studied domestic abuse; how violent people (most commonly men) would treat their partners. She saw all the signs; his controlling nature, his threats, his actions. She remembered thinking 'why don't the victims just leave?', thinking it was such an obvious and logical choice. But as she looked at the sight of her face in the mirror, she cursed herself for not wanting to. Not even a little bit.

Harley splashed her face with cold water from the tap. It stung her wound slightly but she ignored it. She patted her skin dry and looked at her reflection one more time. 'It really could have been worse,' she told herself. 'Be thankful for that at least.'

She turned off the bathroom light and walked back into her bedroom. The Joker was under the covers, lying on his side with his back to her. He had the duvet pulled right up over him, like a child hiding from monsters. A flash of green hair was just visible. It was nearly 2.30 in the morning now. Harley was tired, she felt groggy from being woken up so suddenly. She unbuttoned her blouse and wriggled out of her skirt, leaving them in a heap on the carpet. She quietly pulled a black satiny nightdress out of her dresser drawer and slipped it on. Hesitantly, Harley pulled back the duvet on her side of the bed lowered herself into it. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, her arms wrapped protectively over her body.

She couldn't shut her eyes, even though she would have loved to go back to sleep. Her body was yearning for rest but her brain couldn't relax. She was sharing her bed with one of the most ruthless criminals Gotham City had ever seen. And that's when she realised; although she had studied him as a patient, there was plenty she didn't know about him at all. Things she felt she deserved to know.

"What's your name?" she said loudly, all of a sudden, startling herself with her own bravery. In her mind, she crossed out the word 'bravery' an replaced it with 'stupidity'.

The Joker didn't say anything for a moment, perhaps through surprise. Then, he rolled over to face Harley. "What?"

"Your name. I mean, your real name. I don't even know it."

"Nobody does." he replied.

"Won't you tell me?" she requested.

"I can't." he answered, turning back over to face the window.

Harley paused. "Why not?" she asked quietly.

"Because I don't remember."


	16. Tabula Rasa

**Chapter 16 - Tabula Rasa**

Harley looked at him lying there, all covered up. He'd said it so bluntly, that she thought it must be true. But how can somebody not remember their own name? She didn't know how to reply. She didn't want to start questioning him as she would have when she was Doctor Quinzel. So she just sat up in bed, trying to arrange the best approach.

Suddenly, The Joker turned back over to face Harley. When he saw she was sitting up, he mimicked her position.

"Well?" he badgered. "Aren't you going to ask me what the hell I'm talking about?"

"I don't know what to say." Harley said, shrugging her shoulders. The truth was, she didn't want to say anything to set him off again. She felt the cut on her face throbbing a little, reminding her of his threat.

"And I don't know what to tell ya," he answered, he too shrugging his shoulders in response. His voice sounded calm and, well, normal. Not at all like he was talking about not knowing his own identity. Harley knew how quickly his mood could change, but since he had pressed on she guessed she was safe to ask questions for now.

"What else don't you remember?" she asked.

The Joker's eyes shifted. "Well I don't know." He looked at her as though she was dumb. "Because I don't _remember._"

"Okay." Harley said, bowing her head and thinking for a moment. She turned onto her side to get more comfortable, resting her elbow on the mattress and using her hand to prop up her chin. "So what kind of things don't you know about yourself?"

"Let's see," The Joker pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling, as if deep in thought. Then he started listing; using his fingers to count. "My name, my age, what state I'm from," He looked at Harley, whose mouth had dropped open slightly. Her eyes looked sad. But he kept the bouncy tone to his voice, "Everything before about 2 years ago."

"What happened 2 years ago?"

The Joker copied Harley's position once more, and the two of them, lying on their sides in bed, looked like a couple of gossiping friends at a sleepover. He turned the corners of his scarred mouth downwards, considering how to explain it. "I… woke up."

"So…" Harley started, dragging out her word. "Did you have an accident? Like, maybe you hit your head and lost your memory."

"Don't think so." he answered quickly, shaking his head at her guess. "I wasn't injured or anything. It wasn't like that. I just woke up. I was sitting on the chair in the back room of the house, with my head resting on the table." He started, not quite looking at Harley anymore, but looking slightly past her. As if he was imagining these first moments. "I lifted my head up… and there was white and red paint smeared onto the surface, where I'd been lying." He smiled slightly at the recollection, as if it was a fond one. "I touched my face," he said, showing Harley his actions. "And more paint came off on my fingers. And then I felt my scars." He turned his head to the right, giving Harley a full view of the disfigurement on the left side of his face. He traced over it with his index finger.

Harley swallowed hard before she spoke. "You… don't know how you got your scars?"

Suddenly, The Joker burst into frenzied laughter, banging a fist down powerfully on the mattress. The bedsprings echoed beneath them. Harley backed away slightly. Had this all been some sick joke?

His laughter subsided as he smacked a hand to his forehead. "Hysterical, isn't it?!" he said, confirming her assumption.

Then it all dawned on her; that was why he told varying stories about his scars. She had read about his different explanations of them in witness statements from his file at Arkham. He just made it up, because he didn't _know_ their true origin. Harley felt overwhelming sympathy for him. This man didn't how where he came from. That explained why he was the way he was. He had no past to learn from, nothing to teach him how to act in society. He had nobody or nothing to be _good_ for.

It was unimaginable. Harley created her own list in her mind as she looked at him rubbing his eye sockets with a thumb and forefinger. If The Joker had no memories that meant he had no childhood, no parents or siblings. No friends.

It all figured; he acted any way he wanted to because he couldn't remember doing anything that had a negative consequence. Harley replayed one of her earliest memories. She couldn't have been older than 3. She was in the kitchen with her mother, baking cookies. Caitlyn had sat Harleen on the counter-top whilst she taken the baking tray out of the oven. She'd put the tray a couple of feet away from her child and said "Don't touch, Harleen. It's very very hot." But when her mother had turned away for a moment, she had scrambled across the worktop and grabbed at a cookie. She could still recall how much it had burned her hand. It was so hot, it felt like the cookie was bonding to her fingertips. She had thrown it onto the floor, screaming and crying. Caitlyn had first shouted at her daughter for disobeying her. But then she had taken her Harleen into her arms and kissed her hand all over.

She had learned from that incident. But it still remained to be a very special snippet of her past. The smell of the cookies, the radio playing in the kitchen, her mother cuddling her. And now, the thought of it made her ache. He had nothing like that.

He looked up at her swiftly. "Don't you feel sorry for me!" he roared, as if he had read her mind. "I'm much better off than all the rest of you. You, and everyone else, you're all bound by your past. It's _pathetic."_ he spat. "That's what was so _funny_ about me being locked up. I've actually always been free. It's the rest of you who are the real prisoners."

Then it occurred to Harley that there was another thing he didn't have; empathy. He couldn't relate to much because he had no understanding or experience of most things other people would consider normal. Every side of personality suddenly became accounted for. She hated to admit it, but she had a peculiar urge to add it all to his file. Not very likely to happen, since it was probably buried under tonnes of rubble back at the Arkham wreckage. But still, this was certainly a leap forward.

She recalled her studies once more; one of the main debates in psychology was Nature vs. Nurture. What is it that really shapes the person you become? Is it your genes, your biology? Or is it your environment and personal experiences. It would appear that The Joker had neither of these. And if he did, he had no memory of them.

"Haven't you tried to find out where you came from?" Harley asked, cautiously. She wasn't sure he'd put up with her questions for much longer. But there was so much to know.

The Joker scoffed. "Now why would I do that? "

"Well," Harley replied. "You came from somewhere. Don't you want to know who you are? Who you were before?" She couldn't believe how dismissive he was being.

"Are you sure I was somebody different before?" he smirked at her, knowing his answers were unsettling her. "And are you sure there was even a _before_?"

"Yes!" she yelled, nodding profusely. Harley's scientific nature exploded from inside of her. "You can't have just _appeared_! That's impossible! You were born into this world like everybody else!"

The Joker sniggered and rolled back over in the bed, fluffing up his pillow. "Harley, you're forgetting one of this city's residents is a fully grown man who dresses up as a flying rat. Don't be so certain of what's normal and what isn't."

I think this is the chapter I've enjoyed writing the most so far. So for those of you who have been waiting to find out a little more about The Joker, this chapter and the ones that follow will give you more of an insight.

_I'm going to get right to work on the next chapter, it might even be posted today._

_Please read and review! And if anyone wants to take a guess at the origin of our favourite clown, I'd love to hear it.:D_


	17. Discussing Day One

_It's not essential that you read what's written in _bold italic, _but I thought it would make for some interesting reading as it shows what The Joker appears to have missed out on, according to certain psychology theories, by (apparently) not having a past._

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter 17 – Discussing Day One**

_**Sigmund Freud's definitions of the three parts of the psychic apparatus:**_

_**The Id: "contains everything that is inherited, that is present at birth, that is laid down in the constitution, above all the instincts, which originate from the somatic organisation and which find a first psychical expression here (in the id) in forms unknown to us". **_

_**The Ego: "is that part of the id which has been modified by the direct influence of the external world. The ego represents what may be called reason and common sense, in contrast to the id, which contains the passions. In its relation to the id it is like a man on horseback, who has to hold in check the superior strength of the horse; with this difference, that the rider tries to do so with his own strength, while the ego uses borrowed forces."**_

_**The Superego: "is a symbolic internalisation of the father figure and cultural regulations. The super-ego tends to stand in opposition to the desires of the id because of their conflicting objectives, and its aggressiveness towards the ego. The super-ego acts as the conscience maintaining our sense of morality and proscription from taboos."**_

_**In layman's terms, the uncoordinated instinctual trends are the id. The organised, realistic part of the psyche is the ego. The critical and moralizing function is the super-ego.**_

_**O**_

_**Psychosocial Development, as explained by Erik Erikson: Stages through which a healthily developing human should pass from infancy to adulthood. In each stage the person confronts, and hopefully masters, new challenges. The challenges of stages not successfully completed may be expected to reappear as problems in the future.**_

_**Infancy (Birth - 18 months): Trust vs. Mistrust.**_

_**If the concept is not addressed, taught and handled properly during infancy (when it is first introduced), the individual may be negatively affected and never fully immerse themselves in the world. For example, a person may hide themselves from the outside world and be unable to form healthy and long-lasting relationships with others, or even themselves. If an individual does not learn to trust themselves, others and the world around them then they may lose the virtue of hope.**_

_**Muscular / Anal Stage (18 months - 3 years): Autonomy vs. Shame & Doubt.**_

_**If denied independence, the child will turn against his/her urges to manipulate and discriminate. Shame develops with the child's self-conscience. Left over doubt may become paranoia. The sense of autonomy fostered in the child and modified as life progresses serves the preservation in economic and political life of a sense of justice.**_

_**Play Stage (3 - 6 years): Initiative vs. Guilt.**_

_**The child during this stage faces the complexities of planning and developing a sense of judgment. The child learns to take initiative and prepare him or herself towards roles of leadership and goal achievement. Activities sought out in this stage may include risk-taking behaviours, such as deciding to cross a street without looking both ways. The child may also develop negative behaviours. These are a result of developing a sense of frustration for not being able to achieve his or her goal as planned and may engage in behaviours that seem aggressive, ruthless, and overly assertive.**_

_**School Age (7 - 10 years): Industry vs. Inferiority.**_

_**Children are becoming more aware of themselves as individuals. They are now more reasonable to share and cooperate. At this stage, children form moral values, recognize cultural and individual differences and are able to manage most of their personal need and grooming with minimal assistance. Children might express their independence by being disobedient, using back talk and being rebellious.**_

_**Adolescence (10 - 17 years): Identity vs. Role Confusion.**_

_**The adolescent is newly concerned with how he or she appears to others. Superego identity is the accrued confidence that the outer sameness and continuity prepared in the future are matched by the sameness and continuity of one's meaning for oneself, as evidenced in the promise of a career. The ability to settle on a school or occupational identity is pleasant. In later stages of Adolescence, the child develops a sense of sexual identity.**_

_**Young Adulthood (18 - 40 years): Intimacy vs. Isolation.**_

_**Body and ego must be masters of organ modes and of the other nuclear conflicts in order to face the fear of ego loss in situations which call for self-abandon. The avoidance of these experiences leads to openness and self-absorption.**_

_**O**_

Harley was stumped. Through everything she had learned about the development of the human mind and the explanations of different behaviours, there was nothing to explain The Joker. He was impossible.

If he _really_ had no past, that then had to mean he hadn't been through any of the psychosocial development stages. That was the only part of it that figured; he had never be subjected to any of the negative aspects of life; such as guilt or shame. But that also meant he'd never experienced anything good; such as love or friendship.

She had tried to question The Joker further, grabbing his shoulder and attempting to roll him back over towards her. But he had batted her away and used some particularly colourful language so she knew she'd reached his limit.

Now, she sat up in bed and looked at the digital clock on her dresser: 8.56am. She hadn't slept a wink. She glanced over at him with annoyance. He was sleeping soundly, still facing the window. Harley couldn't take the waiting any longer. She nudged him three times in the shoulder. Nothing happened. She nudged twice more, a little harder this time. Still nothing happened. She inhaled deeply, puffing her cheeks out with air, before exhaling impatiently. She grabbed his shoulder with both hands and violently shook him. "Wake up! Wake up right now!"

The Joker flipped over onto his back, displaying his messy green locks. "What the…?" he started, gruffly.

"We're talking about all of this! I don't care if you don't like it. I want to know everything! Sit up, we're doing this now!" Harley reeled off, pointing a finger in his face.

"Ok, don't shoot!" he said lazily, squinting his eyes and holding up his hands. He sat up and leaned his head lazily against the wall. "What do you wanna know, missy?"

Harley breathed out once more. Then she looked down at her hands, realising she didn't really know where to start.

"Erm… Tell me about when you woke up."

"Already have." The Joker answered, stifling a yawn.

"No, no." Harley said, shaking her head a little. "Tell me where. You mentioned a house."

"Oh, right!" he said, understanding what she meant. He shifted his position, as if getting ready to tell a really good story. "Toxic Acres."

Toxic Acres was an abandoned estate of houses, right on the north border of Gotham City. Shortly after it's completion a few years ago, it was discovered that the area was unsuitable for habitation due to its proximity to a toxic waste dump. The houses stood there, undisturbed and empty as far as the rest of Gotham aware. And they were right, apart from just one house.

"You woke up in a house in Toxic Acres?" she repeated, not really sure whether she believed him.

"Yup." was his only reply.

"On your own?"

"Yup."

"Will you talk to me properly, for God's sake!" Harley yelled, losing her temper. "Just explain!"

"You _just_ woke me up! Where are your _manners_?!" he said, with that accustomed bouncy tone in this voice. "Would it be too much to ask to have some breakfast first?"

Harley smiled. He seemed to be in a good mood this morning. "Sure. Sorry."

"Jeez!" he exclaimed, light-heartedly, throwing back the covers and leaping out of bed.

Harley rustled up some bacon, eggs, fried mushrooms and beans for breakfast. She was just putting the plates on the table in the kitchen when she heard The Jokers footsteps coming down the stairs. He walked into the room, tucking his shirt into his trousers. She watched him adjusting his braces and smiled at the thought that this was quite possibly the most ordinary morning he'd ever had.

She had a thought that made her stomach do a somersault; the setting looked like a man and his wife. She was making him a filling breakfast, setting him up for a day ahead at work. As he sat down at the table, she almost took a step over to him to plant a kiss on top of his head, but thought better of it. Even so, the memory of the previous night's violent incident melted away as she watched him eating the meal she'd prepared for him. She watched how he used his knife to cut up his bacon. It wasn't sharp enough to get through anything much tougher than that anyway, but nonetheless, Harley found it reassuring that he wasn't attempting to use his favoured sort of weapon for anything more than segmenting his breakfast into manageable pieces.

After breakfast, Harley cleared the table and loaded the plates, pans and cutlery into the dishwasher.

"Ready to talk now?" she asked, sitting back down opposite him and resting her arms on the table.

The Joker leaned forward, pulling his chair forward along the floor. He interlocked his fingers and lay his hands parallel to Harley's. "Yeah." he sniffed. "Where was I?"

"Toxic Acres." she reminded him.

"Right," he agreed, bowing his head. "So, I woke up at the table, discovered the paint on my face and the scars; blah, blah, blah," he batted a hand around in front of his face. "There were newspapers on the table. All laid out in front of me."

"Newspapers?" Harley repeated.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Dozens of issues of The Gotham Times. All had articles about _The Batman _in them. That's how I found out about him, the little paparazzi whore."

The Joker continued to explain and Harley was overcome with a remarkable notion: how extraordinary must it have been to recall your very first moments as an inhabitant of Planet Earth? And to be able to do it as an adult, with a mature mind. She considered it to be much like playing a computer game; as an animated character exploring a mysterious location.

He explained how his house in Toxic Acres was furnished to an extent, but not overly so, just the basics mostly. In a bedroom upstairs there was a roll out bed with a pillow and a blanket. There was a wardrobe, which housed five single-breasted purple suit jackets, five pairs of identical purple slacks to match, two purple shirts with a hexagonal pattern, two moss green waistcoats, a purple three-quarter length overcoat, two pairs of brown lace-up shoes, a pair of purple leather gloves and a very colourful collection of socks and boxer shorts.

"So what were you wearing when you woke up, then?" Harley asked, a little puzzled.

The Joker leant forward in that way he always did when he was about to say something amusing. Or something that would amuse him at least. It didn't always have a corresponding effect on others. "Different kinda suit." Harley narrowed her brows, not catching on to his pun. "_Birthday_ _suit,_ Harl'," he explained, grinning at her.

"Oh." she said lightly, hoping he wouldn't be able to tell that she was picturing that sight (but guessing he would anyway). Since she'd seen him wrapped in the bathroom towel the night before, it had been on her mind rather a lot.

He described how the other rooms in the house were pretty much bare. There was a second room upstairs, which could also have been used as a bedroom, but there was nothing in it. A bathroom, which possessed a toilet, a basin, a mirrored medicine cabinet and a bath with a built in shower. Back downstairs there was a large room at the front of the house, which was completely empty apart from a pair of dark, heavy curtains that covered the bay window. The kitchen had a perimeter of cupboards with chrome handles. There was a sink, a washing machine, a tumble dryer and a microwave.

Harley almost had to suppress her laughter as she spoke. "Just so I've got this straight; you wake up in a house in a disused neighbourhood, and pretty much everything you need to get by is just _there_?"

The Joker considered this for a moment. Then he shrugged and nodded. "Convenient, huh?"

"I'll say." Harley replied.

"Almost as if," The Joker said. "It was all meant to be."


	18. Moving Day

_I've had messages and reviews off a few of you who were waiting for this chapter – I'm sorry it took a while! I turned 21 last week so there have been a few celebrations and I haven't had much time to write!_

**Chapter 18 - Moving Day**

The Joker explained to Harley how, when reading a relatively new article about Batman saving a family of five from a burning building, he had come across another article about Toxic Acres. As it turned out, after the completion of the previously unnamed estate, a number of the construction workers and builders who had worked on the site had started to become ill. Hospital testing brought to light that these men were all suffering from lung damage. One of them even went on to develop lung cancer. Toxic Acres was investigated, and it was discovered that the estate was situated right next to a toxic waste dump. Therefore, it was deemed unfit for human habitation.

However, the article did mention an antivenin, which, when injected, allowed people to gain access to the site safely. The Joker told Harley how he had later found a vast supply of the antivenin injections in the bathroom cabinet.

"Are you serious?" she asked, with a straight face.

The Joker burst into laughter. "I don't do _serious,_ Harley." he answered. "But that is the truth. That is what happened."

"Well excuse me for finding it all a little hard to believe."

"Well excuse me for not giving a rats ass what you believe!" The Joker retorted. "You're asking me all these _questions_, see. Just be thankful to get some answers. I can't help it if they aren't the answers you'd like."

"They're just not the answers I was expecting, that's all." Harley explained.

The Joker smirked. "And that's because you're still thinking with the mind of a Doctor. You should stop that. Otherwise, this," he pointed a finger at himself and then at Harley. "Is never going to work."

Harley sighed. "Okay." She said, voicing her understanding. "What else?"

"Money." he simply answered.

"What about it?" Harley questioned, as puzzled as she had been since their conversation had started.

"When I found my suits in the closet, I got dressed. Everything fitted perfect, naturally." he said. "In every jacket pocket was a wad of cash."

"How much?" Harley asked.

"I don't know exactly. A lot." he said. "It was all made so _easy_ for me, wasn't it?"

"So what did you do with it?"

"Bought a coupla different suits. And some hair dye." The Joker said.

Harley looked up at his hair. The green tinges were fading now, looking a little grubbier and duller than it probably had when it was freshly dyed. "What colour was it before?"

"Hey, you might find out one day. Seeing as the collar doesn't match the cuffs." he replied, winking at Harley and smirking.

Harley cleared her throat, noticing The Joker chuckle a little as she did so. She felt her cheeks getting hotter. Was he flirting with her? She decided to ignore it. "Why did you choose green? Why even dye it at all?"

"The clothes and greasepaint made me stand out enough. Not to mention the scars. It had all been decided for me. My hair was the one thing I got to choose for myself. It was either green or purple. I think I made the right choice, don't you?" he asked, running his fingers through his hair and beaming at Harley for approval.

"Didn't anybody, you know, look at you funny while you were out?" Harley enquired cautiously.

The Joker didn't seem to notice her vigilance. "Yeah, I got a few looks." he shrugged. "But it wasn't just me who didn't know who I was then. I mean, who's gonna approach a guy in a purple suit with big scary scars?" he sniggered at the idea.

"And the paint." Harley included.

"No." he said, shaking his head. "I washed it off. I wanted to see my face."

Harley studied his bare face as she sat opposite him. He had dark eyes and strong features. She tried to picture what he'd look like without the marks around his mouth, but couldn't. They reminded her of the lines of a map. Scars usually had such stories behind them. Harley wished she knew the real story behind The Joker's scars. 'Someone must have done that to him. Why would anybody do that?' she thought.

Harley suddenly remembered the cut on her own face. She twitched her mouth at one side and poked her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, feeling the groove in her skin. She excused his actions in her head and shook the thought away.

"You wanna quit starin'? You'll give me a complex." The Joker said, just as Harley's thoughts snapped back to reality.

"Erm," she started, uncertainly. "I was just thinking, are we going to go to Toxic Acres?"

"Yes, indeed." he answered, rubbing his hands together and getting up from his seat. "Anything you wanna bring with you?"

O

Harley looked round her bedroom. There wasn't much in it. Even if somebody had just moved in, there would probably be more _stuff_. At least then there would be boxes and bags strewn about the place. But as Harley's eyes scanned the room, she could see nothing of much value; sentimental or otherwise.

She had laid out her completed costume on the bed. She looked at the clash of red and black. It was the most colourful thing in the room, next to the cream bedspread, light oak flooring and magnolia walls.

Harley took a black holdall from the floor of her closet. She hadn't touched it since she'd unpacked her things when she first moved in. She folded up the newly stitched catsuit and placed it neatly in the bottom of the bag. She grabbed a few other things; some jeans and jumpers. But she wasn't really sure what else she should pack, since The Joker wasn't exactly what you'd call well groomed. Would they be slumming it at his house in Toxic Acres? Maybe they'd be moving around a lot. Maybe there wouldn't be much time for hygiene. Eventually, she decided to take as much as the bag would allow. Underwear, toiletries, clothes.

"Harley!" came a sudden shout from downstairs. "Come take a look at this!"

Harley nearly lost her footing as she did a herd-of-elephants impression down the flight of stairs, toward the voice of the excited Joker. She found him in the lounge, standing a few feet away from the television set and holding a can of beer.

"They're fast workers, aren't they?" he said, indicating the news report on the TV.

Harley listened to the same correspondent they had watched before report on the latest news at Arkham. "…have confirmed that 12 bodies have been pulled from the wreckage so far, although the identities of those victims have not yet been verified. Firefighters and paramedics continue to work on clearing the rubble here at Arkham Asylum as well as at other badly affected areas of Robbinsville and Gotham City. Robbinsville Police Department have also been able to confirm that the body of The notorious Joker - alive or dead - is yet to be recovered." The same photograph flashed up on the right hand side of the screen.

"Ooh!" The Joker squealed, leaping from one foot to the other, causing beer to spill out of the opening of the can. "There I am again!"

The suited man continued, the scene of the wrecked Arkham as a backdrop to his report. "…say that finding this dangerous criminal is imperative, even though it has already been stated that survival of the earthquake would have been almost impossible. The general public, especially the residents of Gotham City, will surely not be able to rest easy until his death has been officially confirmed. We will give you more updates as and when they occur, but for now, Tom, Claire; it's back to you at the studio." The reporter nodded as the shot flashed back to a pair of seated news anchors.

" 'Almost impossible' they say! Well won't I be a nice little surprise, alive and well. They must be so _worried_ about me." he said sarcastically. "And you." he wagged a finger at Harley and took slow paces towards her. "You'll be like the added bonus." The Joker stood next to Harley and threw his free arm around her, pulling her into his broad chest. He raised his can of beer into the air. "To us, Harley." He took a huge gulp from his can in celebration.

O

"I'm not wearing that."

"You have to, you have _green_ hair!"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Don't be such a _baby_! It's just a scarf. Now, wrap it round your head!"

The Joker snatched the black scarf out of Harley's outstretched hand, grunting like a sulking child. "God damn."

"_Thank you_," Harley said falsely. She picked up her holdall, which she'd left by the door. "Ready?"

The Joker wrapped the scarf over his hair like a bandana and tied it in a knot at the back of his head. Harley tried not to snigger. She'd already forced him to wear a black zip-up sweater over his shirt. _Her_ sweater. "The quicker we get there, the quicker I can take this shit off." he said flatly, making his way towards the door.

Harley threw out her arm to stop him passing. "Ah-bu-bup!" she said loudly. "I go first. I need to see if the coast is clear."

"You already said you don't know anybody round here! Who's gonna notice you, you're a loner!" he barked.

"It's not _me_ I'm worried about being seen! It's you!" she yelled back. "You might be wearing a bit of a disguise, but you're not exactly inconspicuous are you?!"

The Joker shrugged dismissively, and stepped back. The memory of the their arrival to the apartment rang in her head. 'The next time you try to stop me from doing something, anything, I'll cut you open like a fish,' he'd said. But since the whole knife-in-the-face-while-she-slept episode, since he'd pretty much poured his heart out to her, Harley felt like they'd made a new connection. A little bit of that fright and caution he'd struck into her had started to drift away.

Harley opened the front door a couple of inches and bulged her eyes as far as she, looking in each direction. She felt as if she probably looked like a cartoon character, her actions animated and exaggerated.

She couldn't see anybody yet, so she opened up the door a little further and bent forward. "I got a great view of your ass back here, Harley." The Joker said, a little too loudly. Harley kicked a foot backwards, hitting him lightly in the shin.

Nevertheless, she bent over needlessly a little further as she examined the street outside. There was no one around, it was only 7.15 in the morning after all. Harley turned her head so she was facing back into the hallway. "We're good." she said quietly. "Let's go."

_Admittedly, this is a little bit of a 'nothing' chapter, but I feel it's necessary to make the transition! Chapter 19 will be a lot more interesting! Thanks for reading!_


	19. Maloney Street

_Hello All! Here is the long-awaited (haha!) Chapter 19. Still sticking with the whole mysterious, teasing angle I'm afraid! I'll try not to make Chapter 20 take as long. As always, your opinions are much appreciated._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Maloney Street or Betty's House Of Pies!_

**Chapter 19 - Maloney Street.**

Harley skulked towards her car, looking around nervously as she opened the door on the driver's side.

She was followed by The Joker, who slammed her front door behind him and strutted towards the car. "I'm driving." he stated. "You don't know where you're going."

To avoid attracting any attention in broad daylight, Harley didn't respond. She just scuttled round to the other side of the car, opening and closing the door as quietly as she could. She flung her holdall on the back seat and fastened her seat belt. She watched The Joker as he got into her car. He slammed the door and Harley winced, but chose not to say anything.

She scanned the road in front of her like a paranoid meerkat as The Joker watched on in amusement. "Will you relax? God, anyone would think you're riding with Gotham's Most Wanted!" he said sarcastically.

"Can we just go, funny man?" Harley requested, finally sitting back in her seat.

"Certainly." The Joker answered precisely, starting the car.

O

"Would you slow down? Just a little?"

"Harley, I'm not even driving fast!" The Joker answered impatiently. "Do you wanna see me drive fast?" he looked at her mischievously, knowing his was pushing her patience. He could almost see a little vein throbbing in the side of her head.

"No! God, no." she replied, fidgeting in her seat a little. "Just - Just be careful."

The Joker snorted in response.

There weren't too many people around at this time of the morning, and those who were weren't even taking notice of Harley's car or who was in it. They weren't really taking notice of anything. They were just walking; getting to wherever they needed to go. Harley couldn't help but pity them a little. They had no idea The Joker was driving right past them as they travelled obliviously to work. If one of them happened to catch a glimpse of him, they might not even realise who it was without the make-up and the scarf covering his hair. They might not even notice his scars if the reflections on the glass concealed his face in the right way. And they certainly wouldn't look twice at Harley; she'd look like any other woman in the passenger seat of a car. Nothing unusual there. It wasn't as if her picture had been shown on the news and she'd always considered herself to have a very generic face; not the kind of face a stranger might remember ten seconds after seeing it.

As Harley watched the streets of Gotham City go by, she noticed the car slowing down. The Joker pulled into the side of the road on Maloney Street. Harley looked round at him. "Why have we stopped? What are you doing?"

The Joker looked at Harley and then nodded his head to indicate a building opposite the car. Harley looked round - Betty's House Of Pies. She looked back at The Joker. "We _just_ had breakfast."

"I have no food in the house. We'll be hungry later." he explained.

"I can't go in there! What if someone recognises me later on? That's just asking for trouble!" she said anxiously. She didn't want to take any chances.

"Would you prefer it if I went in there?" he said smartly.

Harley exhaled deeply and bit the side of her cheek. "Fine." she said. She unfastened her seat belt, and got out of the car. She leaned in through the open door. "You'll be here when I get back, won't you?" she asked tensely.

"Dutch-Apple." he replied.

"What?"

"The pie? I'll have Dutch-Apple." he grinned at her.

"Right." Harley said quietly and closed the car door. She looked around her as she walked up to the door of the bakery. She held her breath as a man walked across her path. He didn't look at her, he just walked on.

She pushed open the door, and a bell chimed lightly. The walls were decorated with stripy wallpaper in two light shades of pink, which were almost identical to each other. It was so _1950's_ in there. 'Treat Me Rough' by Ella Fitzgerald was playing hazily on the radio.

The shop was totally empty, much to Harley's relief. As she approached the counter, a short, plump woman in a pink apron popped up from under the counter suddenly. Harley almost jumped out of her skin.

"Sorry hon'," she said kindly, as Harley held a hand to her chest. "Didn't mean to frighten you."

"That's alright." Harley replied, shaking her head a little.

"What can I get you?"

"Erm. Two Dutch-Apple pies, please." she answered quietly.

"Coming right up." The woman nodded. "To go?"

"Oh, yes please."

"Why don't you take a seat, hon'. I'll bring them over."

Opposite the counter, all along the wall were a row of booths, each housing a dark wood table and two burgundy cushioned seats on either side. Harley sat on the edge of one of the seats, the one nearest to the door. She turned her head towards the window, but couldn't see past the heavy net drapes. They'd discoloured to pale yellow through age and looked like they could do with a good wash.

Harley continued to stare at the net curtains as the music played.

'…_So treat me rough, muss my hair, don't you dare to handle me with care. I'm no innocent child, baby. Keep on treating me wild…'_

Her vision hazed out as she fell into a kind of daydream. She remembered the day she had told The Joker about her circus training, back at the asylum. She remembered how they had fought. And she remembered how he had stroked her hair after she'd woken up.

A paper bag plopped down on the table in front of Harley.

"Two Dutch-Apple. That's 12 please, hon'" the aproned lady said.

Harley dipped her hand deep into the pocket, pulling out a ten dollar bill and a few coins. She tipped them into the lady's hand.

"You stay right there, I'll go get your change."

"No, no," Harley replied hurriedly. "There's no need, you keep it." She got up out of her seat and grabbed the bag, crumpling it in her fist. "Thank you!" she called as she pulled the door open, causing the bell to chime once more.

Harley stopped in her tracks as she stepped out onto the pavement. Her car had gone. The Joker had gone.

O

Harley walked to the edge of the road and balanced on the kerb. She looked from left to right, but couldn't see the car. Her panicking heart was thumping at 100 miles an hour and she could feel her palms getting clammy with fear.

Where had he gone? She'd only been in the shop for five minutes, if that. Had he planned to leave her this way all along? Was he just using her? Harley's eyes filled up with tears as quickly as an overflowing sink as the thoughts raced through her mind.

She wandered about on the side of the street like a lost child, clutching at the bag from the pie shop, not knowing where to go or what to do.

Suddenly, a familiar car horn sounded loudly. Harley turned her head in response the noise. On the corner of Maloney street, her car came to a halt. The window lowered, and there he was. He looked on at Harley as she sprinted down Maloney Street towards him, with a big smile on his face.

Harley flung open the door on the passenger side and almost leapt in.

"What the hell…" she started, trying to catch her breath as she spoke, "were you doing?!"

The Joker snatched the paper bag out of Harley's quivering hand and peered inside. He inhaled deeply. "That smells good." He tossed the bag onto Harley's lap.

She glared at him in disbelief, almost in disgust. "What were you doing, leaving me like that?!" she demanded of him.

"Relax, relax," he said flippantly, rolling his eyes. "I just went to pick up a thing or two."

"Like what?"

"You'll see," he answered. He pulled away from the corner and drove back onward down Maloney Street. He could still feel Harley's eyes staring intently, but he continued looking forward. "When we get back to Toxic Acres."


End file.
